


Moments in Limbo

by Maizeysugah



Series: Moments in the Wizarding World [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama & Romance, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4657191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maizeysugah/pseuds/Maizeysugah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>17 year old Harry Potter wakes up in limbo once more and takes on the task of guiding Lord Voldemort away from evil to the side of good. </p><p>This is a companion piece to "Moments in Time".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments in Limbo

White. His eyes open and all he sees is white. And he’s naked. He breathes in the crisp, fresh air, feeling very much alive. He does not know how he got there but he knows where he was: limbo. He’s been here before, a short time back when Lord Voldemort struck him down with the killing curse. Lord Voldemort…Harry stands up and looks around. “I need clothing,” he says, and in front of him robes appear. He pulls them on and listens. And he hears it in the distance, the thumping and thrashing sounds against the floor. The follows it, moving through a hazy mist as he approaches it, the grotesque and tiny form of Lord Voldemort lying on the floor. 

He remembers what Albus Dumbledore had told him the first time he was here. “You cannot help it.” He wonders if that’s really true now since the Dark Lord is dead. “I need a duvet,” he says and grabs the duvet that appears in front of him suspended in air. Carefully, he lifts the child into his arms, it’s flayed skin peeling and rotten. He smells of burned flesh and cries out as Harry wraps it up as gently as can be, taking great care to not disturb any of his wounds. “Are you hungry?” he asks him, but he only cries in return. “I need a bottle of warm milk,” he says and takes it in hand, easing the nipple into the child’s mouth. 

Voldemort feeds from it greedily, like everything he’s ever done in life but Harry knows he must be terribly hungry and let’s the thought flit away. He finishes the bottle quickly, crying when there’s nothing left. “You want more?” Harry asks him while he puts him over his shoulder and pats his back until he belches. “I need another bottle,” he says, and feeds it to him, ignoring his cries when it’s empty. “That’s enough,” he says, pouting at the child. “I need a cradle.” 

* * *

Harry is staring up at the glittering glass dome covering them. He smiles because it keeps Voldemort occupied for hours on end. He closes his book and looks into the cradle beside him. The child’s skin has healed very nicely. It’s all white and clear. Voldemort’s snake-like eyes open and he growls at the boy, hissing in Parseltongue at him. “I can’t understand you,” Harry says, frowning at the child. “Are you hungry? Do you need a change?” 

The child ignores him but Harry stands and checks his nappy and asks for a new one and for the old one to be disposed of. He gets a jar of pureed peaches and puts the child in his seat to feed him. The child reaches out, wanting to feed himself. Harry shushes him with a finger. “Not until you’re strong enough,” he tells him. “When you can eat solid foods.” 

The child has outgrown his clothing. He’s growing in size and getting stronger every day. He has yet to speak to Harry in English, but he knows it will come with time. He wipes the child’s mouth with a napkin and sets him on the floor. “Would you like a toy?” he asks him, and asks for one when he says ‘yes’. He returns to his chair and picks his book back up to read while Voldemort spins his top again and again. 

* * *

He’s nearly as tall as Harry now. He is greedy, ignorant and cruel. He hurts Harry whenever possible, striking him with fists, slashing him with claws. But Harry just touches him, caresses his cheeks, letting him hurt him. He’s on top of him, holding him down, choking him but Harry cannot die. He weeps for him when he stops, and watches him throw himself on the floor to have a tantrum. Harry recovers, healing himself by asking to be healed. This always infuriates Voldemort, he wants Harry to be in constant pain. He climbs back on top of him, with his hands around his throat and uses English to speak to him for the first time since Harry’s arrival. “Why can’t I kill you?!” he asks him, his wraith-like form is quivering with hatred. 

“Because we’re in limbo,” Harry tells him as soon as he can talk. He is slapped across the face, hard and cruelly. It takes his breath away, but he’s so selfless that he does not retaliate. He reaches out, touching the man’s snake-like face, cupping his cheek as he’s slapped again. Tears trickle down his cheeks. “You are dead,” he tells him. 

“I am immortal!” he screams, punching Harry in the stomach and throwing him to the floor. He’s done horrible things to him up to this point. He is a monster, he is pure evil. He tries to break him, make him serve him, bend him to his will, but Harry is strong. He won’t be broken, not by Voldemort, not by anyone. 

“Do your worst,” he tells him, showing little emotion. “You can’t kill me. You never could.” 

* * *

He towers over Harry now, but he is less cruel. He looks very much like the man who struck Harry down. His long, skeletal fingers wrap around Harry’s throat but he hesitates. He is unsure whether he wants him in constant pain any longer. He doesn’t know why, perhaps he no longer cares about Harry, or perhaps it’s the opposite. He is conflicted by newfound emotion. He wants to hate him but he cannot muster up the hatred anymore. His hand falls away, back to his side and he walks away without a word. 

He finds himself looking at him a lot. Harry has always got his nose in a book or is writing in his journal. He wonders what he writes about, wonders if it’s about his time with him. He refuses to ask him, though. He would never show Harry any sort of civility. Certainly no kindness. He is weak, he is ordinary, he is not special. He has caused him more trouble than he could possibly imagine and it still burned in his mind. Now he’s trapped here in limbo here with him, possibly forever. Dumbledore is right; there are worse things than death. This was a prison. 

He has no wand. No matter how many times he asks for one none is given. Nothing is given to him. He is completely dependant upon Harry to survive and it is heart wrenching. He is lucky that Harry is so kind or he would suffer. “Are you hungry?” Harry asks him. He gives him a terse nod and joins the young man at the table to eat lunch. He can stomach him enough to sit by him now. Harry always tries to speak with him, a real conversation starter, but Voldemort never replies. He is far too dignified a person to converse with such a boy. 

* * *

“Potter, look,” Voldemort says, pointing to the top of his head. “I’ve got hair.” 

Harry gives him a nod. “Yes, it seems that you do.” 

His eyes were no longer scarlet, the pupils no longer slits. His white skin has a touch of blush to it. Harry thinks he looks a whole lot like the man he saw in the Pensieve while he asked Dumbledore for the job of being the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. He’s not handsome but not really snake-like anymore. 

They speak civilly to one another now, and the dome begins to grant some of Voldemort’s requests. 

“Potter are you hungry yet?” Voldemort asks him. 

“Oh, yeah,” Harry says. “I could definitely eat.” He sits down at the table and smiles. Voldemort has asked for Cornish Pasties and roast potatoes, one of his favourite meals. When his plate appears on the table he inhales its fragrance, blissfully content. “Thank you,” he says, “That was quite considerate of you. "

“You’re welcome,” Voldemort replies, giving him a smile as he tucks into his meal. 

* * *

“What are you looking at, Harry?” Voldemort asks him, catching him looking at him again. He feels himself blush and looks away, not wanting Harry to see his red cheeks. 

“Nothing, sorry,” Harry says, also blushing and looking off into the room. “It’s just amazing how you look now.” He is gorgeous, terribly handsome. Harry cannot believe how good-looking the man is now. And his personality matches his looks. He is charming, a delightful conversationalist, and Harry enjoys spending time with him now. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Voldemort replies, chuckling. 

“It was,” Harry says, and Voldemort stops chuckling. He glances at Harry out of the corner of his eye. Yes, he’s been watching him, too. Perhaps it’s being in limbo that makes him look so handsome, or perhaps his hatred for him blinded him of that fact before but it’s undeniable; Harry is very attractive and for the first time in his life he feels lonely and is lucky to have him there. 

He would have to apologise to Harry about all of the horrible things he’s done to him. It was the polite thing to do, after all he did murder his parents and torment him throughout his teen-aged life. Yes, he would definitely have to apologise to him. 

* * *

“Call me Tom.” 

“But I thought that was a common name.” 

“I don’t want to be associated with Lord Voldemort anymore. We’re two different people now. He hurt you. I’d never hurt you.” 

“You wouldn’t?” 

“How many times do I have to say it before you believe me?” 

“I want to believe you. I really do.” 

“Please forgive me.” 

“I forgive you, Tom.” 

“Thank you, Harry. That means a lot to me.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

* * *

“Let me do that,” Tom says, tilting Harry’s head back and taking the straight razor in hand to shave his face for him.

“Oh, I can do it,” Harry says, trembling against his chest as he leans in, drawing the razor blade up the length of his neck. He wants to trust him, needs to, so he stands straight with his head resting on the man’s shoulder. 

Tom’s fingers curl in his hair. “You’re shivering,” he says softly, his lips touching the shell of his ear. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, feeling guilty about it. He wants to trust him. 

Tom caresses his cheeks and tilts his head, checking to see if he's missed any spots. He lingers in it, his skin is so soft and he’s so pretty. He watches him in the mirror suspended in air in front of them. He sees himself with Harry, sees his arm come around and press into his waist. He smiles. They look good together. “All done,” he says, clipping his cheek with the tips of his fingers. 

Harry smiles. “Thanks, Tom,” he says, wiping his face with a damp wash rag. “That was really kind of you.” 

“You made my life better. I want to make yours better now.” 

“That’s very nice of you.”

* * *

Harry finds himself cornered again. He turns quickly, backing up, feeling himself pressing his body flat against the wardrobe. “Yes?” he says, watching Tom plant a hand on either side of his head, blocking him in. 

“Why are you still afraid of me, Harry?” 

“I’m not afraid of you, Tom. I’m just…nervous around you.” He’s so tall and handsome and he smells fantastic. It’s his beautiful face that makes Harry wary of him, he looks like Tom Riddle, he is Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle is Lord Voldemort. He could not not connect the two. 

“Have a drink with me,” Tom asks him, taking his hand. 

“Sure, Tom,” Harry says, letting him lead him away. 

He finds himself standing in a room filled with flowers, it was like a field of brilliance. There seemed to be no end to it. Had they left the dome? “What’s going on?” he asks Tom, gaping at him. 

“Come,” Tom says, pulling Harry along through the field. They come up to a spot in the field set up with a picnic rug, basket and a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket. “Sit,” he says, and drops down on the checkered rug. He watches Harry sit and gestures to him, sweeping his finger along the length of the rug. “Lie down on your back and close your eyes. We’re going to play a game.” 

Harry laughs nervously but lies down on his back, takes his glasses off and closes his eyes. “Alright, what now?” 

“I want you to trust me,” Tom says, hovering over Harry. 

He can feel his breath on his face as he speaks. He starts trembling. “Okay, Tom,” he says, and bites down on his bottom lip. 

Tom opens the picnic basket and plucks a grape off of its vine. “Open your mouth,” he says, smiling when Harry complies. He feeds him the grape, watches him bite down on it. 

“Was that a grape? I love grapes,” he says, chewing it up, smiling. 

“I know,” Tom says, cupping Harry at the nape of his neck. He can feel him trembling against his fingers. He sighs. “Lift your head up,” he says, holding a glass of champagne to his lips. He tips it, letting him drink from it. He traces the length of the faded scar on Harry’s forehead. “I fancy you.” 

Harry’s eyes open. Tom is still holding his head up. His lips are so close. He takes a shivering breath as he closes in on him to press them to his. And they kiss. It’s soft, lingering and chaste. Tom is gentle, careful, trying his best not to frighten Harry too much. He tips his head, daring to go a bit farther, parting his lips to see if Harry will part his, too. He does. He extends his tongue, feeling it touch Harry’s puffy lips as it slides into his mouth and comes in contact with the young man’s. It feels wonderful. He sits back, looking in Harry’s eyes. “How was that?” he breathes, fearing the answer he’ll give him. 

“That was very nice,” Harry says through a bashful smile. 

* * *

Harry screams into the room. He’s having a nightmare, a really bad one this time. It wakes Tom up and he runs to his bed to wake him up. “Harry, it’s just a dream,” he says, giving the young man a little shake. 

Harry opens his eyes and is startled by Tom’s presence. “What are you doing?” he asks him, pulling his duvet up to his chin. 

Tom frowns, but tries to hide it. “You were having a bad dream.” 

“Oh,” Harry says, feeling guilty. Tom turns to go back to his bed but Harry stops him. “Wait, don’t go.” 

Tom whirls around, gasping, his eyes and mouth are wide open. “What?” 

Harry clutches his duvet but looks to the other side of his bed. “Stay with me tonight. In case I have another nightmare.” 

“You sure?” Tom asks him, climbing onto the bed. “You can tell me if you aren’t comfortable and I’ll leave. I swear it, Harry.” 

Harry smiles at him and closes his eyes. “I believe you, Tom.” 

* * *

Tom is kissing Harry again, something that’s become his favourite thing to do anymore. He’s feathering kisses along his throat, occasionally sucking on the skin, taking it into his mouth. Harry isn’t trembling anymore. He hasn’t trembled in his presence for nearly a week. “I do fancy you, Harry,” he tells him. 

“I fancy you too, Tom,” Harry tells him back. He can look into his eyes now without panic rising racing though his veins. He doesn’t think about Lord Voldemort anymore when he does this now, he only thinks about Tom. Tom was right: Lord Voldemort and he were two very different people. He was not the man who had messed so wrongly with the morality of magic.

“Kiss me again.” 

“Absolutely,” Tom says before pressing their lips together again, kissing him passionately. 

* * *

Tom has Harry cornered again at the wardrobe, hands planted on either side of his head. Harry’s giggling bashfully. He bats his eyelashes at the tall man. “What’s on your mind, Tom?” 

“I think you know,” he says, and buries his face in Harry’s neck. He takes him around the waist, pulling him away from the wardrobe and pivots him toward the bed. 

Harry lets him. He knew this would eventually happen, he would want to sleep with him. They fall on the bed and Tom begins loosening his tie while he toes off his shoes. Harry reaches for the buttons of his shirt but Tom stays his hand. “Let’s take this slow,” he says, smiling. “We’ll go until you say ‘stop’, alright? No pressure.” 

That eases the worry in Harry’s mind. He nestles languidly beside him, staring longingly into his beautiful eyes. 

Tom eases him back against the mattress and kisses him. He kisses the line of his jaw next and moves to his neck. He unbuttons the first button on Harry’s shirt and places a kiss on his collarbone. He waits a moment for Harry to protest. When he says nothing, he proceeds, unbuttoning the second button and placing a kiss above the swell of pectoral muscle. He repeats the process, waiting a moment after each button for Harry to stop him. He flicks his tongue over his hardened nipple and dips it in his navel. His shirt is fully unbuttoned now. Tom sits up, smiling down at Harry as he unbuttons his own shirt. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Harry tells him. “I’m okay.” 

* * *

“Harry, wake up!” Tom shouts, taking the young man into his arms to cradle him. He knows the persistent nightmares are his fault. He sweeps him up effortlessly and carries him off to the bath. He lowers him into the tub and kneels down beside him, wiping the sweaty fringe from his eyes. “How can I help you?” he asks him, feeling terribly guilty about the state of his mental health. 

“Honestly, I’m fine, Tom,” Harry tells him, touching his cheek. “Stop beating yourself up.” 

Tom rings the soapy sponge out over Harry’s torso and lathers him up. Coddling him was something he’s grown to love doing for Harry. “Chin up.” 

Harry leans back against the warmed porcelain, closing his eyes and letting his head loll around while he enjoys Tom bathing him. “Are you going to join me?” 

“Of course I am. I just love taking care of you, Harry, like you took care of me.” 

Something happens then. Across the dome a pair of gates appear and part open, flooding the room with blinding white light. Tom throws his hand up, shielding his eyes from it. “It’s beautiful.” 

“What is?” Harry asks him, looking in the direction that Tom is squinting at. “I don’t see anything.” 

“It’s Heaven, Harry. We can leave here.” 

Harry sits up and squints, looking around the dome. “I don’t see anything, Tom.” 

Tom gasps. “No…That must mean you’re not really dead because Heaven would have taken you in a heartbeat, Harry. You’re practically an angel as it is.” He sighs, knowing they have to part. He lowers his head. “I have to assume that when I go through those gates you’ll return to your body. You can have a life now, Harry, a true, long life.” 

Harry takes his hands. “But I don’t want a true, long life if you’re not there with me, Tom. What are we going to do?” 

Tom looks at the gates. “Another time,” he says to them and they close and fade away. 

“What do you mean?” Harry asks him, pleading to him with his eyes. 

“I’m already in heaven, Harry, I’m already here,” he tells him as he climbs into the tub, taking the young man into his arms. “I’ll remain here with you as long as you want me to. When you wish to leave, you just tell me and I’ll go.” 

“He was wrong,” Harry tells him, nuzzling in Tom’s embrace. 

“Who?” 

“Albus Dumbledore,” Harry says. “Let’s just leave it at that.” 

“Whatever you say, love,” Tom says, kissing the top of his head. “I’m good with that.” 

The End

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a picture of the absolute cutest kitten I've ever fostered. I named her Sweetie Princess because that was the only name that fit. 
> 
> If you liked this please give me kudos or leave a comment, or both!


End file.
